Scars
by KodiakWolfe13
Summary: The entire family had their scars, but Jason's always seemed more personal. (Two-shot.)(Requested by Fati Sid.)(Now cross-posted on Wattpad.)
1. Successors and Predecessors

**Disclaimer: I don't own nothing except my _fantastic_ grammar. Hardy-har-har.**

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Ch.1: Successors and Predecessors

The hum of the motorcycle roared throughout the long cave. The cavern walls only amplified the sound, the noise thundering and vibrating all along the enclosure as the cycle zoomed down the tunnel, nothing but a blur of blue light that disappeared as quickly as it came. The sheer intensity of the noise had the bats inside of the cave stirring and screeching, even before the bike appeared in the central cavern system. When it finally broke the exit of the long tunnel it'd been traveling down, the bats finally began flailing about, shrieking as they flapped about. The ruckus refused to die down until the motorcycle had come to a complete stop, and the engine shut off, leaving the impressive cycle dead and still.

With a faint chuckle, Nightwing pulled off his helmet as the third Robin did the same behind him. The younger boy glared at the older in an obvious gesture of irritation, even though Nightwing was in front of him and Robin could only see the back of his head. Still, the glare was harsh enough for the oldest Boy Wonder to feel it boring into his skull, which only fueled his amusement as he looked over his shoulder and asked Robin, "Aw, is someone bitter back there?"

"Shut up, Dick."

"Being right never gets old."

Robin rolled his eyes as Nightwing carefully swung one leg around to slip off his motorcycle. After, he turned to Robin, his smile becoming a tad bit gentler as he held out his hand to help. "Come on, Tim. Let's get you up to the med bay so Alfred can check you out. I know you're convinced that you have nothing more than a sprain, but let's be thorough, shall we?"

The younger boy begrudgingly agreed with the male, accepting the help off of the cycle after he brought his uninjured limb over the side of the motorcycle. Nightwing chuckled again, undeterred by the fact he had to act as a crutch, and the two slowly began the trek towards the direction of the infirmary, where Nightwing would drop Robin off before going to get Alfred. As they contently walked along, Tim pulled the mask from his eyes, as did Dick. As soon as they did, Tim laughed, causing the older to look down at him startled as he asked, "What?!"

Pointing at Dick's face and with the biggest, brightest smile ever manifested on his face, Tim asked, "You know that explosion that went off earlier tonight that you almost got caught it?"

"Yeah…?" The oldest Bat-Boy drawled, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and confusion at the younger's prodding.

"Yeah, your entire face got burned, except for where your mask usually is. You got a big, ole white raccoon mask around your eyes now."

"What?!" Dick yelled, his free hand whipping up to smack the side of his face as he tried to feel for the outline on his face. Tim snickered beside him, limping lightly as they walked along. A groan fell from Dick's mouth, though he hadn't managed to find the ridges with his gloved fingers. Under his breath, he muttered, " _Dammit_ … I'm not going anywhere for a few days."

"I'm sure Bruce has something somewhere to cover it up." Tim commented, grinning in what he hoped was a helpful manner, though it only exposed the sheer amount of amusement he had for the situation. Dick only glared at the other for laughing, stuck his tongue, and then laughed along as well. However, their pleasurable atmosphere dispersed when the sharp sound of a door slamming boomed throughout the cave, followed by Alfred irritably calling, "Master Jason, do come back! There is still much that needs to be done before I can safely allow you to leave."

The name caused the two Bats to freeze in their tracks, confusion and shock raging in their eyes. Then they were moving as fast as they could, with Tim's bad foot and all. (They wouldn't be so cautious, if Tim's sprained foot hadn't just finished healing from a clean break only a few weeks prior.) The stomping of thick boots bounced off the cavern walls, just as the roar of the motorcycle had, speaking measures of the state of mind the visitor was in. The situation wasn't looking very good, though when anything involved the certain wayward Bat, it never was. The only comfort came in knowing that Alfred would escape harm, as it seemed that the visitor had no grudge against the man as he did the rest of the family.

Fortunately for the two Bats, the med bay wasn't far from the designated garage, and Dick and Tim made it up to the computer's platform in time to see Jason climb the first couple of steps to the grandfather clock. His back was to them, and he was eerily silent as he zipped up his leather jacket, though it was obvious there was something bothering him as he moved his arms about. Alfred was standing near the large computer, obviously exasperated and even the slightest bit flustered with the second bird's actions. His hands were covered in blood, which was undoubtedly Jason's, but the two boys were blind to whatever wound there was, with the other male hiding his injuries so well.

"Jason." Dick called, stopping a good distance from both the wayward bird and the flustered Alfred. Tim looked after his predecessor with obvious hesitance and a semblance of fear in his eyes, which was to be expected after everything Jason had dealt out to them over the months and years.

However, it didn't seem Jason was in the mood to fight tonight. Though his step wavered and paused for the slightest moment at his name, Jason just kept on walking up the steps, his rigid pace never once hindering after the initial first. Still refusing to look over his shoulder, the wayward bird waved one hand in the air in dismissal, not surrendering to anything but not engaging either. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, dickhead. I was just on my way out."

"You're injured."

"What's it to you?"

"Jason, stop."

There was no reason for him to listen, but Jason paused in his ascent up the stairs anyway. He didn't turn around, wouldn't face the other two Bats and the silent butler as they watched him debate with himself, obviously torn between finding out what the man's predecessor wanted and just leaving. He compromised by asking, "What do you want, Dick? I need to head out."

Alfred scoffed in an obvious 'like _bloody hell_ you need to leave _now_ , you _twit_ ' gesture. The simple sound had the edges of Tim's lips twitching upwards in amusement, as Alfred was the only one who would ever dare to make such a casual but disapproving sound to Jason. Everyone else was too afraid it might set him off, trigger something in his brain that told him to attempt to wipe the Bats from existence. When Jason was around, everyone walked on eggshells, all except for Alfred, who was not afraid of what the second bird had become. Was he disappointed? Absolutely. But frightened? Not a chance. Alfred knew the man better than that.

Instead of answering Jason's straightforward question, Dick asked, "Were you…getting medical attention?"

Jason scoffed, and that was about all Dick needed to hear to have his question answered, though it'd been quite obvious anyway. And if Alfred's irritation and bloody hands were anything to go by, Jason had decided that whatever medical attention he'd already gotten would be enough until the man himself or someone hired could finish where Alfred abruptly been stopped. However, there was no doubt in Dick's mind that Jason was probably still bleeding from whatever wound he had, and he was also aware of where Red Hood's territory was. While Dick wasn't particularly fond of his successor, not after Jason had tried to kill him on multiple accounts, that didn't mean he wanted to see the younger man crash his motorcycle because he nodded off from blood loss while driving home.

"Look," Dick called, stopping Jason from getting his ass in gear and leaving while he still had a chance. The image of a flipping motorcycle and a flailing figure wouldn't leave his mind now that he had thought of it, and Dick was sure it would've leave until something was done. "You're already here, Jason. Just let Alfred finish and then leave. Tim and I won't pick any fights, and no one will say anything to Bruce, ok?"

Dick could feel Tim staring at him curiously, probably wondering why he was practically inviting the man to stay, even if it was only going to be a brief visit. But Dick knew Jason better than Tim, and the second bird's fight switch wasn't on right now. It's why Jason had retreated when he had heard the motorcycle enter the cave to begin with; he was no more interested in facing Dick and Tim than Dick and Tim were interested in facing him. The only thing the first Robin had any lingering doubts about was the verbal fighting. After all, benevolence had never been Jason's virtue. In fact, the only who seemed pleased and unconcerned by the invitation was Alfred, who had a small, smug smile on his face. When Jason finally sighed and relented, turning around to walk back down the steps, Dick could see why.

The man was haggard, dark crescents under his eyes and the smallest slouch in his stance. Jason's hair was mess, as it usually was, but it looked more unkempt than usual, streaked with sweat and grime. Jason was dressed up in his standard uniform, his leather jacket zipped up the front to hide whatever was battered underneath. The only thing that remained unchanged was Jason's hard expression. While it was usually tinged with some dark humor no one else understood, today it was irritated and short-tempered, ready to get things over with quickly. This was expressed further when Jason merely muttered, "Fine."

The young man began slowly walking down the steps again, his thick boots thundering off the walls of the silent cave. Dick watched Jason, noticed the other's weary but reluctant stance. Then the man looked at the youngest Robin, taking note of the younger's guarded expression as he tried to hide whatever anxiousness he felt at having his predecessor around him for more than a few minutes. It probably never occurred to Tim that Jason could be docile, not when Jason had only expressed intense anger in his presence. Dick knew it would never have popped in his brain, if he were Timmy.

After nudging the newest Robin, Dick received Tim's attention. The man didn't say a word, only smiled reassuringly. The young boy smiled back nervously, trying to muster up the confidence Dick had in Jason but only succeeding in causing more doubts to appear.

Slowly, the incomplete group of Bats moved to the infirmary, silent except for their footsteps. No one dared to say a word. There were too many chances that it might trigger something in someone, whether it be Jason, Dick, or Tim. That didn't mean nothing was passed between them, though. The visiting, wayward bird glanced at Tim curiously, noticing the limp he sported but said nothing, though the reason why was undetermined. The other two birds glanced at Jason in return, trying to spot whatever injury he had but finding nothing. They didn't ask.

The group entered the infirmary single file. Jason was in the lead after Alfred, simply because the other two boys were hesitant to have the other at their exposed backs, even if Jason was claiming temperance today. It's not that Jason wasn't being abnormally calm around them; he was. None of it was a trick, as far as Dick or Tim could see. It's just… If he wanted to, Jason could find a way to be angry at anything, simply because he didn't know what else to do. And typically, when he was angry, it was taken out on the Bat-Family (and the criminal underworld, but the criminal underworld didn't have to worry about themselves at the moment). If Jason noticed the two's hesitance, he didn't mention it or make a sign to acknowledge it. There was no way he hadn't noticed it, though; he just knew how to hide it well. It could be that he understood their hesitance, but it was more likely that he simply didn't care.

Inside, one cot was already pulled out and prepared, obviously where Jason had been getting his treatment before Dick and Tim showed up. There was a tray nearby, filled with black thread, red gleaming needles, and damp, crimson-stained rags that had been used to sop up the blood, as well as all sorts of disinfectants to keep infections at bay. It wasn't much, but it at least allowed Tim and Dick to know that Jason's wound was probably a gash of some sort. It didn't allow them to know the severity or any other such information, but, well, it was more than they had had before on the subject.

With a sharp word from Alfred, Jason hastily went back to his spot on the edge of the cot while Dick pulled up a chair for Tim so he could wait for his turn. The two were silent as they watched Jason begin shrugging off his beloved leather jacket again, mumbling hissed curses under his breath the entire time, and it was quickly revealed that he had no shirt under it. The padded armor Jason usually wore had been cut away and cast aside in a bloody heap. Dick wanted to sigh at the younger's stupid, rather impulsive actions but didn't. Jason would have- no doubt –snapped at him.

Alfred took his place at the man's back, ready to begin stitching the wound he had been fixing before. Dick eagerly skipped up beside the butler, ignoring Jason's hard blue stare following him all the way. At seeing the wound, Dick whistled, causing Jason to roll his eyes, before the oldest bird commented, "Damn Jason, that's nasty. What the hell did you do?"

The wound- a five-inch gash slashed across Jason's right shoulder-blade -wasn't as nasty as Dick claimed it to be, but the injury certainly looked it. But then, it was only half-stitched up, blood was still leaking slowly, and while the wound wasn't particularly deep, it was jagged. Knowing Jason and the fights he tended to pick, none of it was much of a surprise. There was a reason the man was known as the most reckless Robin the Bat had ever taken in. (However, it was an unspoken rule this was not to be said allowed. Not only did it anger Jason, but something about it also tended to upset Bruce. Jason's anger was understandable, but no one could figure out Bruce's reasoning. The only one who seemed to understand the man's feelings was Alfred, and he refused to say anything about the subject. This, however, was not unusual.)

Jason peeked over his shoulder, glancing dryly at Dick with today's irritation still prominent on his face. The ebony-haired seemed to debate between saying something snappy or telling Dick to fuck off, but in the end, Jason did neither. Instead, the wayward bird stated as bluntly as possible, "Turf battle. Some low-ranked lackey got lucky. I blame it on the lack of sleep this week. It's ok, though; you don't need to worry. I paid him back in full." There was a sick smugness to Jason's tone, and Dick honestly felt awfully sorry for the poor fellow. "The entire week has been tough, though. However, I'm sure all of you Bats are fully aware of this fact."

 _Ha_. Understatement of the year. The Bat-Clan sure knew, as did the whole of Gotham City. After all, it wasn't just Jason's turf that had been acting up that week. Gangs from every part of the city had been unusually rowdy, and the Bat-Family had to start sleeping in shifts so there was always _someone_ patrolling the streets from dusk to dawn, whereas before everyone could usually go home around three-ish to catch some shut eye and not worry about a master-plan unraveling. After all, most villains ( _most_ ) liked sleep just as much as the heroes, and three A.M. quickly became 'shutting down' time.

However, Jason was more than likely feeling the sudden uproar the hardest. Sure, his designated turf (that was still regularly infiltrated by the rest of the Bats) was only a small portion of Gotham, but Jason had no allies, which meant no backup for tough situations. Even if he did have contacts, it's not like he would use them. When it came down to it, Jason easily beat Bruce when it came to the 'solitary creature' gig. It was sad. Jason had been more of a people person when he was younger.

"You know, I'm sure Bruce wouldn't mind helping out in your area for a few nights to let that cut heal up some." Dick suggested, the twinges of a hesitant smile turning up on his lips. He meant every word, but it sounded weak, even to his own words. Timmy's frown became more pronounced with Dick's simple statement, and though Alfred was probably hoping with all of his might for Jason to take the offer up, the butler only slumped his shoulders.

"Yeah… Sure, dickhead. Whatever you say." Jason replied. His voice was dead with emotion, and he clearly didn't believe a single word of the older man's words. But then, Dick was sure that Jason would never believe the statement no matter who it came from, even if the words were to come from Bruce's mouth. Jason had long since convinced himself that there was no one on the earth that loved him, despite how unfair it was to the people that did. But then, Jason had always been good at crafting lies around him until they weren't lies anymore. Or, at least, they weren't lies to _him_.

The room became deafeningly quiet, but no one made an attempt to start a conversation. Tim fiddled absently with his thumbs nervously, glancing occasionally at the other males around the room. Alfred was silent and focused as he continued to carefully stitch up Jason's wound. The patient under the butler's careful eye continued to make not a sound as the process drew on, his thoughts lingering in his turf as he pulled up future battle plans to edit and revise. Dick kept his distance as he watched the needle jab through flesh before getting pulled out the other side. Most would find the sight horrifying and disturbing, but it wasn't the first time Dick had been the audience to Alfred's performance, and it certainly would not be the last, either.

The time that passed was short and brief, but it felt unnervingly like a few centuries for the figures residing inside of the infirmary walls. The only sounds came from the occupants' steady breathing and the occasional, distant screeches of the bats in the main section of the massive cavern. Bruce never called in and never showed up, something for which everyone was thankful. No one would be able to keep their earlier promises if the man were to suddenly appear, and none of the Bats were in the mood to be letting each other down, even if they were on the worst of terms.

Jason was fixed up soon enough, and Alfred was shooing him from the cot so Tim could take his place. Jason only held up his hands in surrender to the butler's careful prodding, and then he began the fun task of shrugging his leather jacket over his bare shoulders and chest, despite some of the blood left behind from the quick fix-up job. Dick watched him as he did so and asked, "Do you wanna borrow a shirt or something, Jason? I don't think it's good to be going around without one."

"It's fine. It's not like I plan on going anywhere except for my safe house anyway." Jason replied, refusing to meet the other's eye as his hands fumbled with the zipper for a second. The ebony-haired male finally got the zipper to catch, and he zipped the front up and over his toned chest and broad shoulders.

Dick didn't press the issue, though he knew the leather might not be good on the stitches. After all, he caught the meaning of Jason's denial. After all, borrowing was a temporary thing. Sooner or later, Jason would have to return the borrowed object. Dropping the object off would be ideal, but that risked a confrontation Jason didn't want to go down. Mailing was the next best option, but that meant return addresses, which meant adios secret safe house location. Dick knew Jason was intelligent; he could find a way out of whatever he didn't want to do. However, it didn't seem like the younger man had the energy to come up with an idea that didn't risk _something,_ small as it may be.

Despite his mind screaming for him to do it, Dick didn't mention that Jason could just have the shirt.

(People seemed to have the idea that Dick would do something like this just to get an excuse to see Jason, maybe talk some sense into him. Dick wouldn't, though. He was tired of fighting his successor, and he was tired of seeing how cold Jason's eyes had become. Dick remembered a time when they were the tiniest bit warmer, especially when they hadn't been looking at the boy's predecessor.)

Jason paused in the door-frame as he began wandering from the medical bay. He didn't look back- no, he never looked back, not for anything -but he did say, "Thanks for the patch job, Al. I won't bother any of you Bats again." There was another pause, as if Jason was unsure of what to say, but then, through the din of the quiet, there was a mumbled, "Keep the replacement safe, dickhead."

No one said anything as Jason left the cave, too stunned to think of anything intelligent to say. All was eerily silent, and the sound of the grandfather clock sliding back into place bounced off the walls, making the cavern feel a thousand times bigger and the residents a thousand times smaller. Even after the wayward Bat was gone, the remaining three figures could muster no words, even Alfred, who inspected Tim's ankle silently. It was all rather unnerving, as Alfred usually had the endearing and irritating habit of scolding his patient up, down, and every which way imaginable.

As he had been with Jason, Dick remained the only audience to Alfred's precise and careful work. It was the slightest bit calming to watch the steady hands move with confidence, but unfortunately, Dick could not bring himself to focus completely on Alfred. Part of his attention became centered on Tim's nervous fidgeting, something he'd been doing since they had shown up at the cave. Dick could understand the younger's nervousness when Jason had been around, but Jason was long gone by now. So what was the problem?

Alfred didn't seem to notice. After he was done with his rather thorough investigation, he told Tim to take it easy on his foot. There wasn't really any problem, just the slightest strain, but they didn't want to push anything- not after just recovering from a broken foot. Tim agreed in a subdued manner, something Alfred noticed but didn't comment on.

Dick, tired of the awkwardness hanging in the air and more than curious to Tim's distracted behavior, quickly glided up beside Tim as he slipped off the bed. The older hero smiled reassuringly and rested a hand on the other's shoulder as he said, "Come on, Timmy. Let's get you on up to bed and _no_ working on cases. Bruce wants you to actually get some sleep tonight."

Tim nodded. Dick steered him away, calling a thank you over his shoulder to Alfred and a promise to come help him clean up everything when Timmy was safely tucked away. A strained smile twitched on Alfred's face as he acknowledged the other's call, but that did not take away the wariness of cleaning away all evidence of Jason's sudden visit.

Together, the two Bat-Boys made their way upstairs after ditching their uniforms. They were silent, saying nothing and hiding their footsteps as they wandered through the still Wayne Manor, so not to break the blanket of quiet that surrounded the large mansion. (Or, at least, that's what they told themselves. It was really to listen for another familiar figure either leaving or attacking from behind.)

Within minutes, they were at Tim's room, and Dick watched him from the doorway. It may have been a temporary room, just something Tim could use whenever his father was out of town and he didn't want to go home, but the boy was as familiar with it as if he had been living in it his entire life.

Dick watched Tim work through his nightly routine without thought, his mind elsewhere at the moment. Finally, the original Boy Wonder asked, "So what's the matter, Timmy?"

It's like Dick had been sneaky about his actions. Tim jumped, a small yelp slipping from his throat as he spun around, looking at the wide-eyed Dick with equally as large blue orbs. It was obvious in the way the older was leaning against the door-frame that he had been there sometime- Tim had just failed to notice this fact. The young boy was not pleased with this revelation, but Tim did not linger on the thought of his failure. Instead, he asked, "What was that, Dick?"

Bemusedly, Dick answered, "I asked what was wrong."

Tim scoffed, as if he found it offensive that something could be _off_. He shook his head and dropped to the edge of his bed, pulling his legs up and into a lotus position. With the slightest bit of an irritated expression overcoming his face, Tim stated, "There's nothing _wrong_ , Dick. Why would you ask?"

Gesturing to the door-frame he was standing in, Dick tried to suppress the smile threatening to possess his face. It was a struggle for sure as he said, "Well, considering I managed to scare you, despite being the one that led you upstairs, is it wrong that I think something is bothering you?" Dick chuckled at the blush exploding on Tim's face and moved a few paces inside the room. "Come on, tell me what's on your mind. It obviously has something to do with Jason."

At the name and the fresh memory of the man in question, Tim frowned deeper and thought about whatever it was some more. Dick watched patiently, tilting his head to the side as he crossed his arms over his chest. Finally, Tim looked up and asked, "You saw his scars too, right?"

Uh, how could Dick have missed them? They were as numerous as his and Bruce's, and there were plenty of them Dick remembered seeing on Jason when he was much, _much_ younger. It seemed his resurrection hadn't erased any of them and had given the younger man plenty of new ones to carry as well. It was a sad statement, but there was nothing to do but accept it.

Dick didn't see why it should bother Tim, though. The new Robin had seen plenty of the white and fleshy lines on the original Robin and his mentor, the big bad Bat. Hell, the kid even had a handful of them himself by now, some of them even caused by the man he was asking about. Dick just could not fathom why Tim was worried about whatever baggage Jason carried when he had enough of his own already.

"Everyone saw Jason's scars, Timmy." Dick stated, raising an eyebrow as he watched Tim's eyebrows bunch up. "Why does it matter? Everyone in this family has them."

The third Robin chewed the inside of his lip. "I don't know. Does it seem like his are more up close and personal, or is it just me?"

And Dick knew exactly what the younger male meant, for they all had their scars that seemed personal, almost sacred. They told stories of being singled out to be manipulated and smashed to bits, only to come back and keep fighting. All Bats- all _heroes_ –had their 'trophies,' but there was always instances where an experience weighed much heavier than the rest, came to mind easier than every other one present. After all, it wasn't like simply getting shot at because you spooked some superstitious criminals. No. One had to be spotlighted and _resented_.

But Tim had observed correctly. Jason seemed to have more baggage than even Dick had (but not Bruce, _never_ Bruce). The original Robin imagined that they were from being beaten, blown sky high, and incinerated, but it was sad to say that Dick could not say for sure. They hadn't marred Jason's body before the Joker got to him- that was for sure; Dick would remember them if he had –but beyond that point, they didn't really know anything about where Jason had been and what he had been doing. They didn't know when he had risen from the grave, only vague ideas, and they hadn't a clue he had been alive until Jason had started taking Gotham by storm. The man could've received his trophies during any of those unaccounted for years, and until Jason confirmed what they suspected, it was to be expected that they would never find out on their own.

It was upsetting, knowing so little of what drove Jason to do what he believed was right. Maybe that's why they could never get through to him, no matter what they said or did. How could they possibly help when they knew so little of what occurred? Hell, if Dick was being serious, they didn't even really know what had happened in that warehouse in Ethiopia. Oh sure, they understood what went down in the broadest of terms, but it just wasn't the same.

Dick sighed. Looking at Tim, he saw that the younger was honestly distraught over the idea of someone going through so much pain, physical or otherwise. It didn't matter that he knew the details of his predecessor's death already; it didn't matter that Jason had tried to kill him in the past. When it came down to it, Jason might've as well been that man they dealt with the week before, the one that threatened to kill his wife and best friend because he found out they were having an affair. Another tragedy to add to the list.

(But neither the man's nor Jason's actions were justified. Just saying.)

"Look, Tim, most of those were from the Joker." Dick hoped they were, in a sick sort of way. At least then they knew what happened. The original Robin didn't think he could take finding out Jason had gotten caught by another psycho, this time all alone with no one to turn to. "While he certainly is far from getting over it- something that I doubt will ever happen in this lifetime –it doesn't haunt him as much as it would've years ago." Dick _hoped_ , anyway. "Just… Lay down and get some rest. Don't worry about it, ok? Jason's been taking care of himself for a long time. He's better at it than anyone else in this family. This won't stop being true simply because of some personal experiences." It obviously hadn't. Jason was kicking it and going as strong as he had when he had first reappeared.

Tim nodded and did as he was told, lying down and pulling the covers over him. Dick breathed an inaudible sigh of relief at the lack of pestering, for Tim could do so for hours, if in the right mood. The older of the two muttered a goodnight to Tim, receiving a soft one in return, and then Dick left the room, going back to the Cave to do as he had promised Alfred.

Despite Dick telling him not to worry, Tim still did, though he wouldn't really call it worrying. It was more like a concerned pondering (which was worrying, he guessed, but it just didn't really feel the same), and it had the boy up for hours. Against Alfred's better wishes but with promises of taking it easy, Tim was out the next night and rather stupidly running through Jason's territory. He didn't feel like he was in danger, though. Tim could take any crook he came across blindfolded, and he had chose a time that he knew Jason wouldn't be out quite yet.

The newest of the Robins found Jason's apartment easily and saw that his curtains, which were usually drawn shut tightly, were open just the slightest bit. Tim looked right on through and saw the older man, his predecessor, getting ready for battle that he would undoubtedly find sometime during the night. However, he was only half-dressed in his usual cargo pants and steel-toed boots, along with his usual stash of handguns and knives strapped to his person. He hadn't put on his body armor yet or his leather jacket, and Tim guessed that was because he was investigating Alfred's stitch-work in a mirror.

From the look on his face, Tim assumed Jason was trying to measure how much it would hurt when he put his tight-fitting armor on. Tim would've loved to swoop in and suggest that maybe tonight was a good night to stay home, but just because Jason had been docile the night before did not mean he would be as patient tonight. Thus, Tim stayed where he was, simply watching until his time ran out.

Jason seemed to sigh before turning around, reaching for his body armor sitting on the dresser the mirror sat on. He paused before he picked it up, though, his blue eyes locked onto the image of his bare chest reflecting in the glass. Indiscernible emotion flickered in the man's vacant eyes as he reached up to rub the white, fleshy patches spotting his person. His face scrunched up for a moment, as if it hurt, but the scars were years old. Whatever it was that hurt was probably all in Jason's head.

A few minutes later, Jason was slipping his body armor over his head hurriedly, and Tim stood up, wishing for the strength to help.

* * *

 **Alright, so this is a request from my buddy, Fati Sid. This wonderful person asked if I would do my interpretation of Jason and his scars (even though you could do with every hero in existence) and sort of what I thought of them. Sid asked specifically for an autopsy scar, but it is mentioned multiple times throughout Under the Red Hood that they never did one (I assume it was because it was just too hard for Bruce, which is understandable), so I went with the beating ones instead.  
**

 **Now, this is a weird first chapter. Don't worry; it gets weirder. But the reason it's kind of wacky is because, in my personal opinion, scars are reminders of where people have been. For Jason, his scars are sort of like the road that led him where he currently is. So while I didn't focus on the scars specifically a lot, I did reference a lot to past events, which to me is referencing to the scars, and I'm probably not making a lot of sense right now. Oh well. I tried,**

 **Sid also asked if I could have some sort of bonding between the brothers, but where I put this in the timeline, that would be making them OOC, and this already weird enough as it is. On the bright side, they didn't start screaming at each other..? Anyway, see y'all next chapter (possibly, maybe, probably not)!**


	2. Demon Child

Ch.2: Demon Child

Again and again, his fingers tapped against the side of his skull, hoping to ease some of the aching currently pounding his brain to mush. A sigh fell from Damian's lips, something that went unnoticed by everyone else in the apartment. But that was to be expected, of course. With the ruckus in the apartment's kitchen, an explosion could go off in the next room over, and it would be all but ignored. Everyone had _Jason fucking Todd_ to thank for that one, folks.

In the kitchen, Jason was singing loudly and very, _very_ off-key to the music he had turned on three hours ago- if one could call the insufferable noise music at all! The so-called 'music' Jason favored was heavy metal, hard rock, and trace amounts of screamo, all of which Damian despised with a _bloody passion_. He did not see why so many people- _imbeciles_ , every last one of them –found the overbearing drums, bass, and despairing messages to be appealing. And Damian only grew to hate it more and more with every passing second Jason spent dancing and singing with his unholy voice in the kitchen. By the cruel and dark smirk playing on Jason's lips, it didn't seem he was going to stop anytime soon.

 _Oh God_ , why hadn't the neighbors called the cops for disruption of peace?! Even Dick- the fountain of _never-ending, intolerable enthusiasm_ –had grown weary of Jason's game some time ago.

Speaking of Dick, Damian got up from his seat, which he had not left in quite some time, and began trekking across the room. He passed Tim, who was curled up in a recliner with his laptop in his lap and headphones in his ears in an attempt to block out Jason's doings, and hopped onto the bed the pull-out couch provided. He crawled across until he stopped beside Dick, a pillow pressed firmly over his face and ears as he lay on his side. Damian doubted its abilities to block out the music or Jason- dear God, the man was now head-banging while he played an air-guitar; did the horrors _ever cease_? –and called Dick's name, shaking the man's shoulders. A moment later, the pillow was removed as Dick looked over his shoulder. He practically had to yell to be heard as he said, "What do you need, Dami?"

"I need for that imbecile to turn off the God-awful noise he calls music!" Damian stated seriously, his eye just about on the verge of ticking nervously. His fists were clenched tightly, knuckles slowly draining of their color.

Dick sighed a _very_ weary sigh, something that had Damian's heart dropping. After all, this was Richard Grayson, the only one in the family who could stem any of Jason's moods without swinging him into a new one entirely, even if the second Robin only became docile for a short time. If Dick was sighing over a mission he had taken many times before, then there was no hope for the world. Every living thing would perish soon enough, probably from being exposed to Jason, his singing, and his supposedly 'sexy' dancing (did the man possess _any_ shame?! Had the Lazarus Pit really screwed him up _that bad_?!).

"Dami, I don't think I can do anything at this point. My batteries are completely fried."

And why shouldn't he be? It was three in the morning, and all four of them had been working nonstop on a case since two AM _the day before_. They were all exhausted after working both on the physical front and the research side for almost a straight twenty-four hours, and they had promised Alfred before leaving Gotham that they would take care of themselves, which meant adequate amounts of sleep between late night researching and early morning fist-fights.

However, _somebody_ decided that they were simply _too good_ for sleep. But then, maybe Jason just wanted them to suffer. He had seemed more annoying than usual, with his cruel sarcasm and bitter bites.

Damian, not for the first time, wished he had stayed in Gotham with his father. Really, the only reason he had come along this out-of-state trip was because of Bruce's suggestion and Dick's pestering, both of them claiming it would be good for all four boys to work together without the immediate supervision of Bruce. However, that had been a load of bull-crap, and everyone on the trip knew that. After all, it was only day two of this trip, and Jason and Tim had almost gotten into a brawl over something petty (Damian cared not what the issue was), Tim and Damian almost did the same soon after the first initial fight (this one wasn't petty, of course; Damian only fought for things worth his time, though others disagreed), and Dick had almost 'accidentally' fallen off a roof (stray, rubber bullets simply _did not_ just magically appear on rooftops for people to trip over, but Jason swore they weren't his).

It was all very grueling, and again Damian wished to sleep it off, as did Dick and Tim, no doubt. However, a certain somebody was still going hard in the kitchen, and how _in bloody hell had Jason not collapsed from exhaustion?!_

"Todd, I know etiquette is not something you possess, but it would be greatly appreciated if you would turn your damn music off so the rest of us can get some sleep!" Damian hissed over the overbearing drums, ignoring Dick's snap at him for swearing.

While most people would be frightened by the tone the young ten-year-old used and the deadly fire burning in his eyes, Jason was not fazed in the least by the snap. In all seriousness, he was shocked it took so long for someone to yell at him. It amused the man, and he sang louder- if that was possible -with his off-pitch voice. Just to piss off the younger boy more, Jason winked at him.

The next ten minutes was filled with Damian screaming insults and threats and Jason successfully ignoring him and acting like a pompous asshole. It finally ended when Tim, driven to the very edges of insanity with all of it, threw a bat-a-rang at Jason's speakers, efficiently destroying the core of the problem. Then, with no remorse, the third Robin stated, "I'm going to bed."

As Tim stomped from the room, Jason called after him, "You're buying me new speakers!"

"I'm not buying you anything, but I will replace _Dick's_ speakers. Goodnight Jason." The door to one of the two bedrooms was slammed behind Tim with a loud _BANG_.

Damian and Jason watched it, the former with a raised eyebrow, slightly impressed, and the latter with an amused smirk on his lips. However, both of their attention was drawn to Dick when they heard a soft snoring under the pillow he had replaced over his head. Damian immediately rolled his blue eyes, and Jason _hmph_ ed. "Dickhead actually managed to fall asleep. I'm impressed."

Another eye roll. "Yes, well, after working for a full twenty-four hours, I'm not surprised. Now, I'm going to sleep as well. If you decide to continue to remain awake, no one will care, so long as you stay quiet. I would say goodnight, but you are undeserving of such a luxury." With that said, Damian moved to the other side of the mattress he was on and plopped down, pulling the covers over him, satisfied with the fact that Dick was far too tired to cling to him like an octopus in the middle of the night.

(Thank God for small blessings such as that. Since there were only two bedrooms, Dick and Damian were volunteered to sleep together on the big pull-out. After all, no one wanted to sleep in the same room as Jason- he tossed and turned in his sleep too much, always making a huge racket –and Tim had the bad habit of snoring very softly, which was almost more annoying than snoring like a bear during hibernation. Plus, Damian and Dick got along the best, despite their clashing personalities. Any other pair would more than likely end with a third world war.)

In the kitchen, Jason chuckled, mumbled something under his breath amusedly, and began moving around the small area. It was obvious from the quiet clank of plates beating against each other that Jason was cleaning up their earlier late night meal mess. It would've been taken care of a long time ago, but the second boy to don the Robin persona had turned on the music halfway through the meal, which cleared the kitchen out quickly, for no one had desired to retain damage to their eardrums.

The newfound quiet was so much more relaxing than Damian believed it would be. He could feel his muscles uncoiling from their tense posture, which had been undoubtedly manipulated by Jason and his 'spectacular' show. However, it wasn't before long that Damian became accustomed to the quiet, and the running water and soft clanking of plates as they entered the dishwasher became almost as irritating as the screaming of the currently dead speakers.

Turning over, Damian's tired blue eyes opened, staring over Dick to gaze at the poor excuse of a Robin currently doing the dishes in silence. The man's cruel and amused smirk had vanished- a small victory for the rest of the Bat-Boys –and it had become replaced with a neutral expression. Jason's eyes were far away as he worked through movements he did not realize he was performing. It was obvious he was doing his best to be quiet, just as he had tried his best to be as loud as he could just a little while prior, but still, the slight noises were breaking the silence like thunderclaps on a clear night. Needless to say, it was quite frustrating.

However, Damian refused to say anything. Doing so might entice the older male to be annoying again. For now, the second Robin believed everyone was asleep and while Jason could just as easily wake them up, it was obvious from the slight slump in his shoulders that he was just as tired as the rest of them, something that had not been obvious when Jason had been head-banging to Five Finger Death Punch. Since it looked as if everyone was fast asleep, Jason had no reason to be his usual, insufferable self, and that was just fine with Damian, who could tolerate the sounds until Jason was done and he went to bed.

Discreetly, the youngest of the Bat-Boys (but _obviously_ the most able of them, of course) watched Jason work quickly and quietly. There were not that many plates and silverware to stash away in the dishwasher, but the exhaustion wearing Damian down made it seem so much longer than it actually was. And while the boy's tiredness did weigh down on his patience, it did not weigh down on his perception skills. He quickly noticed the way Jason kept rubbing at his chest.

Now, Jason had been shirtless ever since he got out of his shower (which was odd because the man was usually a little shy when it came to his state of undress), his excuse being he didn't want the back of his shirt wet because of his dripping hair. However, that had been hours ago, and the only thing dripping from Jason's black locks was sweat from excessive dancing. Obviously, with no shirt, the man's broad shoulders and toned chest were showcased, as well as the multitude of scars Damian had seen on him plenty of times before for various reasons.

It was no big deal. Everyone in the family had their scars. Hell, _Alfred_ had scars that he kept cleverly hidden from the rest of the world. However, it was odd to see Jason scratching at his, as if they itched or hurt. To make matters stranger, the man was lost in his thoughts, so he shouldn't be feeling anything at all, especially age old scars that have long since lost their sting. (Or, at least, they should've lost their sting- most of it, anyway –but then, Jason was never very good about letting things go.)

Oh Jason. Such a strange character.

Damian continued to watch the older man, lying still on his side of the bed. Jason came out of his stupor when there was nothing left to clean, and the scratching stopped just as abruptly. He rubbed his eyes, which were drooping as he stood there, and then Jason wandered from the kitchen, turning the remaining lights off as he left. The man walked past the couch, unaware of the silent watchman, and disappeared into the bedroom he had claimed the day before.

With that, the newest of the Robins turned over, prepared to finally get some sleep. Damian was at peace for awhile, just lying there and slowly drifting, but it eventually became clear that there was a problem that was prolonging sleep.

He was suddenly _wide awake_.

Damian had to resist groaning in frustration. It might wake Dick up, and the _only_ decent person in the apartment _might as well_ get the sleep he deserved. Still, Damian had no idea what to do now. Research would've been a good way to spend his time until he was ready to sleep, but the light from a laptop or phone would wake the sensitive Dick up- something Damian was trying to avoid. And he couldn't go anywhere in the apartment without waking either of the two nimrods, and Damian couldn't go anywhere outside the apartment because that was just downright _stupid_.

Oh, how Damian wished he was in Gotham at that moment…

With nothing to do, the young hero lazed on the couch, feeling eternally frustrated over the fact he could not do something as simple as sleep, even after being awake for a good twenty-four hours. However, something was bothering him, and Damian could not pinpoint what it was for the life of him. He picked at his thoughts and pondered over everything, but the thing that was bothering him refused to come to mind. You know, until it suddenly hit him as hard as a freight train.

The scratching.

Oh, how Jason's scratching had irked Damian! And only because it didn't quite make sense to him. After all, under careful inspection, Damian's guess was that the older man had been itching at the scars that had been inflicted upon the Joker. However, that incident was many, _many_ years ago. It had been so long that Jason had started giving up on his vendetta, and the only reason he didn't come around the Manor except for once every six months was because the man was not very good at playing nice with the other Bats. Hell, even his anger, while still lingering, had taken a chill pill.

Thus, Damian could not fathom why such events would still have a hold on the older male.

Nearly waking Dick up with his tossing and turning, Damian thought every scenario over. However, there was always something that just didn't quite fit in with the rest of the images. There was always an odd angle or sharp edge trying to pretend it was part of the big picture, even though it was plainly obvious that it was quite the opposite.

Damian was only brought out of his musings when he heard the distinct sound of a door clicking open penetrating the otherwise silent atmosphere in the apartment. The boy's head snapped over to Jason's bedroom door, and he watched curiously as the black silhouette of the man exited, closing the door softly behind him. Jason proceeded to tiptoe to the sliding, glass doors. He pulled back the hanging panels, softly opened the door, and then squeezed through the crack he had made. The panels were gently placed back in their original spots, and the sound of the door sliding shut swept into Damian's ears.

There was no way to tell what Jason was doing on the balcony, not with the panels blocking the view. Damian wondered if the man was going to go off on his own to crack some heads and lower the crime rate his way, even if this wasn't his city. To see if he was right or not, Damian began sliding from the mattress before he paused, looking back where Dick was. The pillow was still lying on top of his head, and though Damian could hear the man's soft snoring, he still worried the idiot would roll over and asphyxiate himself with the stupid thing. He removed the object from Dick's head before walking over to the balcony door and pulling back the panels.

Much to the boy's surprise, Jason was still there, leaning calmly against the balcony rail and looking out over the city lights. Before he even knew he was doing it, Damian was sliding the glass doors open.

Jason looked over his shoulder at the gentle sounds, curious but not surprised. The man waited for Damian to step outside and shut the doors before he spoke, asking, "What are _you_ doing up?"

It was not a malicious question, Damian noticed, just one full of confusion. That was understandable. After all, it had been the boy that had done the most complaining that he could not sleep with the racket of Jason had been making. Why wouldn't Jason be confused?

"As soon as Drake took care of the problem, I found I could not sleep." Damian answered, shrugging his shoulders in an uncertain manner. Damian hoped Jason didn't notice it and asked, "Although, shouldn't you be asleep as well?"

"Tried. Failed. No big deal." Jason stated, raising a hand to his lips. It was then Damian noticed he was holding a lit cigarette, the end glowing red. Jason took a long drawl before opening his mouth again, letting all the smoke pass through his lips.

Damian sneered at the offending object. Oh, out of all the bad habits Jason had but did anyway, this had to be the one he disdained the most.

The two Robins stood there for a time. Jason eventually turned back around, looking back out towards the city. Damian stared at Jason's back, watching the man continue his bad habit. The smoke clouded the view, blurring the images of towering skyscrapers piercing the sky. The constant roar of cars flying by was far away but overwhelming all the same. In the distance, spotlights shot upwards, swaying back and forth invitingly.

"Why were you scratching your scars earlier?" Damian blurted out. As soon as it was said, his cheeks flamed scarlet, something he could physically feel. Luckily, even though the city lights were particularly bright, darkness was stronger on the balcony, covering up the worst of the new coloring. As Jason turned around with an astonished and confused look on his face, it didn't seem he could see Damian's embarrassment. But maybe he was just too bewildered.

" _What?_ "

Whelp, there was no backing down from his question now. It was out, and there was no possible way Jason was going to let it go (again, he had problems with the whole concept). Damian sighed, wishing his brain had thought the idea through a little more before opening his mouth, asking again, slower this time, "Why were you scratching your scars earlier?"

For a long time, Jason simply stared, beyond confused by the question. Damian watched, silent as well, and noticed how the older man reached up to repeat his earlier actions, though he had more trouble this time. He had put a t-shirt on sometime, and his nails made a clawing sound as they itched at the shirt. The sound penetrated through a mist in Jason's brain, and he looked down, noticing where his hand had paused. Then he simply said, "Oh."

Damian refrained from saying anything yet, though many words were clawing to escape his throat. He remained the silent watchman persona he had adapted for the time, allowing Jason to think. Consciously, the man rubbed- not scratched, Damian noted –the spot for a few more seconds before dropping his hand. Jason took another drawl from his cigarette, and then said, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

…that was _it?_ That was _all_ Jason had to say on the matter? _Oh come on._

"Avoiding the question, I see." Damian stated, a sneer on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. Whatever previous embarrassment he may have had dissipated as quickly as it had come. The testing note in Damian's voice had Jason coming to a proper stand, abandoning his casual leaning and donning his usual alertness. The light at the end of the man's cigarette was an angry red.

"Newsflash hell-spawn: it's none of your damn business. If you're as wise as you believe yourself to be, you'll drop the issue." Jason said, a threat obvious in his tone. He might as well have been a brick wall, for he was not going to budge, no matter what Damian said or did.

But that was just typical, wasn't it? Jason was invincible, or that's the way he always presented himself. He was untouchable, unbreakable, _powerful_. There was nothing he couldn't handle. It didn't matter what was facing him; he would always find a way to fight back, to take care of the issue- _permanently_.

For most, it was a convincing act. Even Damian had trouble resisting the man's façade at times. However, Damian had seen Jason at his worst, when he was clinging to something only he could possibly understand. Dick had gone and dubbed it the 'Battle for the Cowl' incident. Jason had been completely postal at the time, talking nonstop about Robins and who should be what. It had been the only time Damian had seen his false front crumble so completely in his hands. The damage had been absolute. Damian would forever see Jason the way he was meant to be seen.

Huh. And not only that, but there had been time when Jason was the very opposite of what he was now. He had been vulnerable, had been able to be tricked by a woman who dared to call herself 'mother.' The man had allowed himself to be beaten, mutilated, blown up, and how he had managed to dig his way out of his-

…oh. _Oh._

"This is about today's mission, isn't it?" Damian asked, a smirk starting to take form on his lips as he caught on. Sure, it was a very jackass move to be digging into this subject when Jason had labeled it off-limits, but there was always something exhilarating about breaking the older man's defenses when it seemed no one could.

There was a pause on Jason's end, telling Damian all he needed to know on the subject. Then the man asked, "What exactly are you getting at, brat?"

"Mother used to talk about you occasionally. Never to me directly, of course, but that didn't stop me from picking things up. I found out how you died, and there was one time she mentioned that there was evidence to support the theory that you may have dug yourself from your own grave." Damian stated. Talia wasn't the only one who had suspected this, though; the boy imagined his father knew of what happened as well, though Damian was uncertain if the other family members inside had any idea. "At the factory tonight, those goons set off an explosion. You and Grayson became trapped under rubble, and I'm sure it was your idea to dig yourself out. I wonder how that felt."

Jason was eerily quiet. He took a long drawl from his cigarette, the glowing end burning brighter for a few seconds. Then he breathed out, the smoke billowing from his mouth. The words came suddenly but clearly. "You're a little _bitch_ , Damian."

What a victory, bittersweet as it was.

Harsh and angry, Jason smashed the butt of his cigarette against the railing, putting it out. It dropped to the floor soon after, dead and obsolete. (Kind of like Jason, Damian noted emotionlessly.) Jason walked to the sliding glass door with a stiff and military-like gait, but he paused when he was beside Damian. With a cruel and malicious tone, Jason stated, "I look forward to the day you have scars that burn, even when they've been healed for years."

The man went inside, but he was back outside a few minutes later, wearing his uniform. Jason swung off without another word, and Damian went to bed, almost glad when Dick turned over his sleep and threw an arm over the boy. In the morning, when everyone woke up, Jason was back. Whatever good humor the man had managed to build over the course of the mission was lost entirely, and he told the rest of the Bats of the lead he had stumbled across. He didn't mention anything about the interaction between him and Damian, though. Hell, Jason never even looked the boy's way, even when he was speaking.

Dick asked what the problem was. Jason said it was nothing. Dick asked if he had gotten any sleep. Jason answered yes. On their way out, though, Damian peeked in Jason's room and saw a mound of Red Bull cans and Five Hour Energy drinks in the trash.

The day came and went, as did most of the night. When the boys finally got back to the apartment, most of them simply went to bed and passed out before they had even changed out of their uniforms. Not Jason, though. He went out on the balcony again for a smoke, something Damian had noticed he had done throughout the day, even though the man usually had better control over his habit.

It would've been easier to go to bed. Instead, Damian found himself outside again, asking, "What did you mean last night, before you went out?"

Jason rubbed his temple with his free hand, clutching his cigarette tightly with the other. "Why do you fucking care?"

The two were silent, pondering each other's question and wondering if they had any answers that could be explained. Enough time passed that Damian became tired of standing in the same spot forever and joined Jason by the railing, looking out over the city clouded by smoke. Eventually, the boy stated, "I believed you would be over the events by now."

"It's not something you just _get over_ , Damian." Jason stated seriously. He sighed, but it was inaudible. "It gets easier, sure, but it hangs over your head. Your fears aren't so scary anymore, but sometimes they manage to hit you as badly as the first time it ever happened, and distractions become your coping method. It's unfortunate to say, but when you're in this family, no one stays innocent, if we ever were. You'll understand eventually, Damian. You'll understand eventually."

All was quiet for the rest of the time the two stood on the balcony. Jason smoked one more cigarette after his initial first, and though Damian would've loved to say something about it, he refrained. There was no need to start another fight when the two of them were being so content standing by each other.

After standing there for what seemed like forever, Damian grew tired and stated he was going to bed. Jason made a halfhearted wave after the boy as he walked away, continuing to watch the city lights. Damian paused before he went inside, though, and before he could decide against it, he said, "I'm sorry." Then the boy disappeared inside the apartment, closing the door behind him softly. Jason didn't even turn around. If he had heard what Damian said, he didn't show it.

Unbeknownst to the young boy, Jason had replied, "I'm sorry too."

* * *

 **Another weird chapter! How frikkin fantastic! Yeah, anyway, this was gonna be a Damian/Jason bonding chapter, but of course, when it comes to those two, WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS 'CAUSE THEY'RE BOTH _JACKASSES_. (I love them both dearly; really, I do. But come on, it's true.) So yeah, this happened instead. The chapter is pretty straight forward; I don't think I have to go into depth on anything, but if you're confused over something that was written, please let me know. I will answer any and all questions thou has.**

 **Congrats to all of those who made it to the end of this, and good day to all!**

 **Thanks to these fellas for favoriting/following: _Fati Sid,_ _KiwiClover, blackcat1806, Adrianna Agray, Taiski, Spiderfan14, Glassea, franciahernandez832, Nwing, Loxare._**


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